Sunny, warmish, nearly windless. Perfect for dog-walking and bike riding.

Mounds and mounds of corn (Zea mays). The bins are full and the temporary holding pens are overflowing, but still it comes. Destined for what? I'd say basically three things: inappropriate animal feed (I mean what creature evolved to eat corn besides weevils?); ethanol (with, after all the petroleum involved in making this pile, a net energy gain of approximately zero); and high fructose corn syrup (soda pop and other junk food).

Of course, some of it is headed to the distillery to be converted into sour mash, but that is okay, I guess.

Speaking of ethanol, the price of gas here in Whitewater remains below $2. Who knows what's coming.

And, speaking of who knows what's coming, I am trying hard not to write about what I think. I like many others, I have dialed back the news and switched from Huff Post, and CNN to poetry. Poetry is timeless and uplifting—making one relatively glad to be a human.